


What They Didn't Have

by SquaryQ



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: "fuck the skating dads yakov is pretty much yurio's dad", Closure, F/M, Getting Back Together, Living Together, back with an ex, gdi zara okay i did it, i ship them like a lot i'm sorry??, justifying a break up, kinda raising a kid, old flame, old flames die like old habits THEY DONT, raising a kid, reasons they broke up, yakov and lilia's living situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquaryQ/pseuds/SquaryQ
Summary: Yakov hated yelling at the boy.But he ended up doing it a lot....Basically, Yakov and Lilia's take on Yuri Plisetsky!





	What They Didn't Have

There was something that struck Yakov about the graceful blond charge he had acquired. When he was young, still in the junior division, he showed immense prowess and nerve in his endeavours, to the point of attempting a quad at a competition. Despite being told he was not to be risking damaging his body by practising quads.

Yakov hated yelling at the boy. He was unlike Vitya, who he had already watched blossom with his coaching and expertise. There was something different between both boys. Vitya was a passionate skater, driven to evoke thought from every theme and performance he did. He was a beauty on the ice. He had grace and poise. He was a Russian prodigy. He was eaten up by the fans. He was adored.

Yuri Plisetsky was unlike Viktor Nikiforov. Part of Yakov believed that to be due to Vitya’s presence in the skating world while Yuri began to bloom. Vitya could command an audience just by stepping onto the ice. At twenty seven he was edging toward an inevitable retirement, however, he seemed driven to go until he couldn’t move.

Yakov loved that about Vitya. The man had more drive, regardless of where his mind was, than any skater he had ever known. Except, in the opinion of his ex-wife, maybe Yakov himself.

Yakov had retired from professional competitive figure skating at twenty eight after a serious injury between seasons. He was forced to withdraw from centre stage but refused to leave that world behind and immediately took on a role behind the scenes. He would not lose skating due to being unable to do it himself.

That and his wife’s equal passion for ballet, were the prime factors that drove a rift within their marital bliss.

Yuri Plistesky was something more than Viktor Nikiforov. As great as Vitya was, Yuri had a fire in his belly. Yakov knew that a promise made years ago would slip the mind of Vitya within days of making it. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t motivate Yuri to work alongside Viktor in reverence for years to come just so he could have one routine for his senior debut choreographed by the new king of Russian figure skating. To Yuri, Viktor was more than Yakov as Yakov Feltsman’s legacy was only remembered by die-hard fans and the occasional commentator from sports magazines. Yakov was far from his prime. Vitya was still clinging to his.

Yakov hated yelling at Yuri. But the boy made it so easy to do. The nerve and will of the fifteen year old was vaster than anything Yakov would have ever considered doing in his young life. He was mortified at the reality of the relentless desires of his charge. While he yelled at him for just hopping on a plane to Japan after a lovesick Vitya.

There was something new in his eyes when Yuri came back from that trip. Part of Yakov wished he didn’t have to reiterate the speech he had already given when Yuri was there, costing Yakov a sizeable amount in phone bills. It seemed just by seeing the light in Vitya’s eyes, that Yuri knew he couldn’t win against the will of the older skater. Instead of reverence or resentment, something new was branded into the fifteen year old boy’s thoughts toward Viktor Nikiforov.

It was only when Yakov watched Yuri Plisetsky perform the routine Vitya choreographed for him that he understood.

Even though Yuri didn’t.

Agape.

Unconditional love, understanding, respect.

Yakov had seen beauty on ice many a time since he last scrolled through the contacts on his phone to find that number. Yakov had seen precision and innovation in ice skates for years but it had never crossed his mind to reach out like it did in that moment.

Agape.

But also determination. A willingness and a ruthlessness bubbling within Yuri. He wanted to prove himself at the senior debut and demand the attention of all that looked his way. He wanted to be seen now that Viktor was off the ice, as much as Yuri had longed to compete against him.

It was that that made Yakov press the call button and make the arrangements that he did.

It was that that brought him back in a situation where he would be faced by the iconic, graceful, Lilia. Even as she aged, she still looked as if she could spring into the most intricate of dances. Lilia, whilst controlled and collected, was a free spirit with passion for her craft.

When she heard of Yakov’s idea, despite her scepticism, she decided that it was worthwhile.

She offered her home to both Yakov and Yuri. For only a skater knows what a skater can and cannot do. She remembered that much from her failed marriage. Always trying to coerce Yakov into doing something outrageous, trying something new, and the arguments it would cause.

Lilia opened her home to the two with open arms and a firm promise to be kept. Yuri was to win the 2016 Grand Prix Final.

Lilia made the sassy, loud mouthed, rude boy into someone with immense grace and poise; regardless of what was on his feet. Lilia made Yuri into more than what Yakov could. Yuri was more than what Yakov could make his skaters. Therefore his free skate would demonstrate what Yakov and Lilia helped create.

…What Yakov and Lilia HELPED to create.

Yet to them he became more than a tenant in Lilia’s space. And the agreement became less of an issue. Rifts were being filled. Yakov and Lilia were reminiscing and laughing together over glasses of scotch. They were recalling trivial domestic hilarity, remarking how the other would die before their bad habits did. They were bouncing off one another again. Complimenting one another, harsh yet praising. Sharp and loud but positive.

They influenced Yuri’s skating.

And they influenced each other.

When they thought he was in his room, Yuri happened upon them talking about the breakdown of their relationship, recalling the insignificant issues that seemed so great at the time. Saying how they were young, passionate and foolish. One track minds so dedicated to their crafts that they were only ever truly in love with that. Though now, wiser, older, and smarter, they realised how stupid their breakup had been. How ridiculous Yakov had been by dismissing the outrageous ideas of Lilia. Maybe if he had done one out of the ten things she would suggest, they would have been married longer.

They were divorced before Yakov’s injury. Lilia apologised before an eavesdropping Yuri over her refusal to speak with him. She apologised for her initial sour nature which later became a permanent mind-set. She said she never expected that injury to take him away from the spotlight. However, she also never expected that the depression that ensnares a pro, snatched from their craft too soon, to keep his feet so firmly planted at the side of Russian skaters for years to come.

Yuri had been stunned.

Even more so when the topic switched to him. Lazy enunciations from loosened lips and slurring words from lazy tongues as they discussed the skater they had taken in.

“He’s a lot like you.” They had said.

They paused.

“More like you.” They said again.

Their voices came as one, melding together in this haphazard way. Their brains fizzing with mild intoxication as their minds raced faster than their lips could carry them. They are left wordless, breathless on the sofa, drinks long since forgotten. Staring.

Staring.

Longing, reminiscing.

Emptiness.

 

Yuri never made his presence known, slipping into his room silently.

 

When he broke the world record, Yakov lifted Yuri in the air and cried out in glee for the achievement. A feat many had boasted about wanting to achieve, yet never managing to grasp onto. Vitya was awed and Yakov was boastful. Lilia wept and Yuri shouted at the top of his lungs. A grin crossed his face that not even JJ Leroy could destroy.

They were so proud of him. Yuri Plisetsky. Their boy. Had just shattered the long-time world record that was previously held by Viktor Nikiforov. Their boy. Did that. At fifteen years old. His senior debut and he demonstrated that he was more than a pretty face.

Yuri Plisetsky was more than a Russian Fairy. He was more than a Prima Ballerina. He was more than an Ice Tiger. He was the epitome of all of the investment Yakov and Lilia had made. He was a storm. He was a hurricane. He was a force to be reckoned with.

 

His incredible feat of snatching the gold from one Katsuki Yuuri was everything. However that did not justify his desecration of months of hard work that Lilia had put into the exhibition skate. She had worked tirelessly on demonstrating the capacity of Yuri’s flexibility and endurance in a classical and beautiful skate.

And then he tossed all of those ideas aside and decided to put his middle finger up to all that dubbed him childish, fair and sweet. And skate an erotic routine with an eighteen year old. To a rock song. That he had heard. AFTER SNEAKING INTO A NIGHTCLUB.

As much as Yakov hated to yell at his charge, there were times when one could not ignore the strikes against him. Yuri had done it this time.

The yelling was excessive, babbling from both parties about reputations. Screaming about the potential loss of sponsors. The aggravation of Lilia for her work being dismissed. The same level of upset from Yakov on her behalf.

As smug as Yuri was, he hated being yelled at. He silently prayed for an opportunity to arise to throw all of the heat between Yakov and Lilia into something proactive so Yuri could get the slip. He was desperate.

 

He was lucky. Yuri was there at the banquet when Yakov and Lilia danced together; fast and free, such tension and pace in every step that they seemed to mirror their heartbeats in the intensity of their movements. The skaters cleared room for them when they danced together, seeing not two late-middle aged people who had once wanted to rip the other’s throat out, somehow matching up in an intimate step. But instead, they saw something young, something fiery, something mad, wild and young. They saw the essence that never left the legends of the Russian National Skating Team.

 

Hot and heavy breathy and thoughtless declarations are lost in the mess of touch and taste on the night of the banquet.

They wake up the next morning with heavy heads and foggy minds. Though their memories of the previous night are as clear as the memories of the day on which they met.

 

Over a room-service breakfast, they discuss their situation. It all loops back to him. Their charge. Their boy. Their winner. Yuri.

It all loops back to Yuri.

Lilia expresses that something feels right when she is in her apartment with Yakov and Yuri, watching the teenage boy lie in the middle of the living room floor, his ridiculously named cat on his stomach.

Yakov agrees with her, laughing at her distaste toward Yuri’s cat’s name.

They note that they may have worked out what was missing before. And although he was not perfect, ideal or anything of the sort. Yuri was as close as they would get to filling that void.

And they agreed that that was perfectly fine with them.

 

After the conclusion of Yuri Plisetsky’s senior debut, he came to his room in Russia to find a letter on his pillow.

‘Thank you,

Yakov and Lilia’

With the key to the apartment taped beneath it.

Yuri couldn’t help but grin.


End file.
